


Ink and Roses

by Wanderlust_Skies



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Human AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-06-07 05:35:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6787702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wanderlust_Skies/pseuds/Wanderlust_Skies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Francis Bonnefoy is a modest florist with perfectionist tendencies. Arthur Kirkland is the tattoo artist in the parlour next door who only dances to the beat of his own drum. Needless to say, it leaves many people scratching their heads as to why they haven't killed each other yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ink and Roses

To close friends and family, Francis Bonnefoy is a perfectionist when it comes to his business. Only the best flowers are allowed to be sold in his quaint little shop, filled to the brim with a myriad of colorful and vibrant flora. His well-trained eye for the delicate and breathtaking earned him a respectable amount of customers; whether it be simple homeowners looking to add a splash of color in their decor or companies wanting a touch of elegance to a reception lobby.

Most of the time, Francis enlists the help of his friend and neighbor, Antonio Carriedo, to either deliver orders or tend to the shop while he was away. But for customers nearby, Francis makes it a point to hand deliver the order himself.

One such customer is a tattoo parlour next to his shop, owned by a rather grumpy British tattoo artist by the name of Arthur Kirkland.

Admittedly, when Francis first met him, he was put off by the man's inks. Bonnefoy is not fond of tattoos, finding it rather uncouth for tainting something as delicate as skin. He feels that Arthur shares the same disdain for him, a sinking feeling that the man simply hates French people in general.

However, Arthur is a good customer, buying fresh flowers every two weeks so the frenchman does not complain. At least not as much as he normally would.

Francis finishes trimming the thorns out of the roses for the parlor and gets ready to leave. "Toni, watch the shop," he says offhandedly to the Spaniard, who was busy with arranging bouquets displayed at the front window, grabbing the bundled roses and heading out of the door.

The frenchman enters the establishment with a bounce in his step, hearing the bell announce his arrival. Heavy rock music blasts the man's ear drums, each strum getting him closer and closer to developing a headache. Kirkland is definitely here...somewhere. "Arthur!" He decides to call out among the ruckus. "I have your flowers!"

As soon as the last word left his lips, short sandy blond hair pops out from a half wall and the music's volume lowers. The tattoo machine's incessant buzz halts and the blond stands up to meet him. "About bloody time, Bonnefoy," a man turns to him, removing his gloves and tossing it in a nearby trash can.

Tattoos of various shapes and sizes run all throughout the man's arms. There are telltale signs of more tattoos under his thin plain white shirt as some stick out from under the collar. He is of average height, roughly the same as the frenchman. For the most part, he is lean and barely muscled; though that can be contested considering both of the man's tattooed arm sleeves covered any hint of muscle tone. The artist glares at the other with piercing emerald eyes. "I thought you were going to drop them off an hour ago."

"You cannot rush perfection, Arthur," Francis responds with a cheeky grin. "Unlike you and your hideous eyebrows. There's no hope there." He passes the bouquet to him. A snide remark, or a jab at their appearances usually coupled their interactions. They always greet each other that way.

"Insulting as always," the englishman scoffs, handing the payment for the bouquet to Francis as he places the flowers on a counter. "Tell me, frog. Are your skills at insults as good as they are when flirting with someone? Because if it is you might accidentally send the wrong message to the poor bloke."

"Charming, sourcils" he answers in a deadpan tone. To be frank, Francis enjoys his verbal arguments with Kirkland. He is someone who is not afraid to step up— or stoop— to Francis's level just to have the final laugh. It is a refreshing interaction with someone Bonnefoy hadn't had in years. Yes, he did have friends where he could do that, but Arthur seems to not have any limit to how much he could be insulted. The same goes for the frenchman.

They finish their chat with more insults and jibes. Arthur returns to his customer with a telltale smirk that he would vehemently deny if acknowledged and Francis leaves with a satisfied smile.

* * *

The florist twirls a rose between his fingers, reminiscing the time he first met Arthur.

_It was mid-autumn and the weather picked up a chill forcing everyone to resort to their coats for warmth. Francis remembers the tattoo artist entering his shop, his dark brown wool coat disguised the man's arms. He wore a light blue collared shirt, prompting the frenchman to incorrectly categorize him as an office worker. Bonnefoy greeted him with courtesy and asked if anything caught his eye. The whole time, he stared at the man's thick eyebrows._

_Arthur's eyes shifted around before they settled on the frenchman. "I'm looking for someone who works here...an Antonio Carriedo." Francis looked at him curiously, wondering how he knew his neighbor._

_"He's running errands," the bearded man answered. "Do you want to leave a message?"_

_"Yes. Uh, do you have something I can write on?" A second later, he was supplied with a pen and paper. Arthur approached the counter and started to write the message. As he wrote, Francis couldn't help but notice something on the man's wrists and pointed it out as some kind of dirt or oil._

_"It's my tattoos," Arthur answered flatly without looking up from the paper._

_Francis felt his interest in the other drop. "Oh," he sighed disappointedly. This earned him a raised eyebrow._

_"Is there a problem with that?"_

_"No, it's just...why?" The question left the florist's lips without him even realizing it._

_"Excuse me?" The artist finished his message and stared at the other. Bonnefoy bit his lip. In his mind's eye, it was too late to backtrack. So for his own benefit, he pressed on._

_"Do they mean anything?"_

_Arthur glared at him before he took off his coat, placed it on the counter with a heavy thud, and rolled up his sleeves revealing the black ink. "Some do," he pointed to a ship sailing amongst a storm right where his bicep was. "Some don't."_

_"...why?"_

_"What are you, four?" The Englishman rolled his eyes._

_"No. French," the bearded man answered without missing a beat. "While you are probably English." He could get used to this banter._

_Arthur snorted. "Of course, you are."_  

The shop's bell chimes, pulling Francis back from his reverie. He sets the rose down and greets the newcomer with a smile. It's one of his regulars: an elderly woman who owned the nearby bakery. She always dropped by to pick up sunflowers and give them out to her customers.

Francis reaches for the prepared bundle of sunflowers from a bucket next to the counter and set it on the table. The old woman smiles at him as she approaches the counter. "Is that all for today, madame?" She nods and gives him the money. The frenchman rings her up and in the time it took the register to process the purchase, she mentions her woes over her daughter's dating life. Apparently, she was seeing someone half the family didn't find pleasant.

Bonnefoy could only offer his condolences. Then she went on to ask him if there was anything going on in his life. Ah, the sneaky woman. Francis laughs and shakes his head. "Nothing like that," he reassures as he passes the receipt to her. She eyes him with a knowing look and rephrases her question.

Clearly there is something she sees in him that even he didn't realize yet. This time the question is if he was interested in someone. Francis hesitates. At that moment his eyes move past the old woman and settles on Arthur, who is walking outside and glancing at the collection of flowers. The tattoo artist's gaze finds Francis's and the latter quickly looks back at his customer. Shortly after, he admits to her that he isn't sure what to think.

She merely pats his arm and offers advice should he need one if he stopped by her bakery. The bearded man smiles in return and walks her out of the shop, holding the door out for her. "Take care, dear," she bids farewell with her armful of sunflowers. "Keep me updated." With that, she saunters off.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys liked this fic!
> 
> Reviews, kudos, and comments are all welcome!


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